Parisians are honest people, mostly …

Contrary to many people’s expectations, Paris is full of honest, helpful people. I bought a newspaper this morning, at a kiosk that I don’t use very often, and wandered away distractedly, only to hear a voice calling “Monsieur, Monsieur!” I’d forgotten my change, which was more than three times the cost of the paper. And the underpaid newspaper seller called out several times to let me know. Very persistent of him.

But there are a few scammers around in Paris at the moment, attracted to the tourists, or, so it seems, to me because I look like one (it’s the fluorescent “I Love Paris” bumbag with its flappy American Airlines hand luggage tag – I must stop wearing it when I go out. Around the house is still fine, obviously.) So I thought I’d run through some of the commonest tricks and warn off any of you who might fall victim through your misplaced kindness or incredible naivety. Most of us are capable of both.

The most common, which I’ve seen in several other cities, is the old petition con. I’m not sure what the petitions are for, but you often see gangs of pre-teens hanging about outside the Louvre or on the Seine bridges, pretending to be deaf, asking people to sign. I think the deal is, when you sign to say that you’re against petitions or whatever, they ask you for cash. These same youngsters, or colleagues of theirs, have also been known to tour restaurants and cafés, placing their petitions on the table in front of you. When you sign or wave them away, the phone that you had unwisely left on the table disappears from beneath the petition. This explains why waiters and waitresses can often be seen gesturing violently at the petitioners to hop it.

Then there’s the “gold” ring trick. I’ve had this tried on me along the Seine, in the Tuileries and near Opéra. A person crosses your path, stoops to pick something up and holds out a gold-looking ring. “Did you drop this?” they ask. If you say no, they will say it looks very valuable, but generously suggest that you keep it, in exchange for a few euros. Apparently it will usually be a brass plumbing ring worth a few cents. These days, when someone tries it on me, I reply “yes, it’s mine, thanks,” and they tut or swear at me and move on.

Yesterday I was almost victim to a new one (on me, anyway). Walking by the canal basin at Stalingrad, a very presentable, student-looking girl with a slight foreign accent came up and asked how to get across to the other bank. Would the boat take her across? This is the little shuttle boat that ferries between the cinemas on either side of the Bassin de la Villette. You can buy a ticket from one cinema, then boat across to the other. I told the girl that the blokes on the boat usually don’t bother to ask for a ticket, so she could just stroll on. She then said that she was late meeting someone on the other side, and, screwing up her face in abject apology, begged to use my phone to call him. “Thierry” would be wondering where she’d got to, it seemed.

Maybe I’m stingy, or simply protective of my brand-new phone, but I told her that if she was in a hurry, she could walk across the bridge about fifty metres away and she’d be there in two minutes. She grunted and left.

It was only afterwards that I thought, weird. And I realized that the scam probably was that she would take my phone and run with it, or pass it to an accomplice, or maybe just call a premium rate line, or do something else that I’m not technologically aware enough to spot. Perhaps I’m just being paranoid, but it occurred to me that afterwards that she really didn’t need to use my phone.

I should stress that when someone comes on the métro and tells the carriage a sob story, or approaches me in the street saying they “just need one euro sixty to get their ticket home”, I usually cough up. I have no idea whether they’re telling the truth, but by the look of them they do generally need the money. (And none of them has ever asked to use my nice new phone.) The only people I always say no to are the Parisian teenagers who sometimes try to beg cash, most likely for cigarettes. I tell them to go and sell their designer jeans, or ask maman.

But as I say, Paris is stuffed full of honest people who will hold open a closing métro door and risk amputation in order to give you the scarf you’ve dropped. So, heartened by the gesture of the newspaper seller this morning, I decided to invest most of the cash he’d returned to me in the ailing French economy. I bought a two-euro lottery ticket. Yes, there are mug’s games that I will fall for every time.

As of August 16, Stephen Clarke will be Annoying the French Encore. That’s the title of a short book he’s written, detailing all the France-themed mischief that’s been going on since he published 1000 Years of Annoying the French in 2010. A nuclear submarine collision blamed on shrimps, a French politician implying that Brits shouldn’t be invited to wife-swapping parties, the New York police who arrest people for sexual assault even though they’re French. All this and more, in Annoying the French Encore, out in ebook only, downloadable from Amazon, iTunes and elsewhere from for 99 pence or less.